


sign my name on the dotted line

by makapedia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6484195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can do it," she insists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sign my name on the dotted line

**Author's Note:**

> just a repost of an olddddd smut fic i posted on tumblr months ago. i may or may not have been a little bit tipsy when i wrote it so, uh, y'know. it's a mess but it's a thing.

"I can do it," she insists.

"Maka."

Her lip trembles indignantly and he swallows his tongue. _But you want to do it,_ her eyes seem to say. _You want to do it and I'm not going to disappoint you._

He sort of hates that he's aroused by the determined set of her brows. She's reckless when she has a resolve – but right now she's downright stubborn and he should not be so turned on. He should not be sporting his most impressive boner to date, because the situation is about to go from 0 to 60 in about 3.5 and he's not sure he's really prepared to help nurse her through the blowout.

He's not sure he's ready to nurse himself through his own blowout.

"You really… don't have to," he wheezes, but she's collecting her hair and tying it into a messy knot above her head and it distracts him from his purpose. " _Wh–_ "

"Just in case it gets messy," she mumbles, lips pursed and eyes focused. Maka stares his dick down like it's an opponent she must overcome, but also with an infallible warmness and aroused heat that does nothing to calm his impressive hard on. Flaxen bangs droop over her eyes and she scrubs them away with a haughty pout, brows crinkled.

He swallows thickly. _Messy._ He knows for a fact that things are about to get very, very messy, and he's not sure if she realizes in more ways than just his semen on her chest.

Though that thought has him halfway there. He mashes down onto his bottom lip and reminds himself that he needs to keep it together – that there's a job to be done, that there's stubborn, frustrating meisters with blatant insecurities that he's fanned in his youth on the line and if he fucks this up, he's not sure he'll ever forgive himself.

Her skin is smooth and altogether mind numbing beneath the heat of his dick. The center of her ribcage is slender and milky white, the home of pale skin that's usually hidden beneath smart blouses and nerdy sweater vests. He feels more than a little dirty about sliding himself along such virginal skin – the word 'defile' comes to mind – but also not, because it feels like heaven, and she sucks in a delicate breath that makes him want to drag his teeth down her throat and kiss the place where her voice stems from, vibrations and hums and all.

His breath comes out shakily. Further up and up he drags, and his arousal leaves a slick, sticky trail that has her brow quirking deliciously and her lips pressing together. He is vaguely aware that his jaw is hanging open and that he's probably panting like a damned dog. He can't help it though, because her skin is marvelous and supple in an effortless, frustrating sort of way and he's going to lose his mind.

The swell of her breasts is slight but rewarding. She's perfect. Her brows crease and her eyes spark with the same sort of challenging intuition that he recognizes from exam season and trivial pursuit games – this is a test for her, she's trying to prove herself and impress him and he sort of wants to cry out in irritation; she's hot, she's the best, and he literally can't keep his composure while rubbing off on her abdomen. What does she have to worry about?

She cups herself and pushes until there's a noticeable valley between her tits. She's creating cleavage, a pathway for him. He wants to say something, but his voice is nothing more than an incoherent gravel and Maka stares at him, green eyes incandescent with pride.

"You're – you're so _good,_ " he whirrs as he slides into place. Her breasts are soft and supple, warm and malleable against the rigid hardness of his dick. He wants to focus on her face and see how she reacts to it, wants to look her in the eye and let her really drink in just how much he enjoys what she's allowing of him, but his composure is crumbling rapidly and she moans delicately. The sound is fragile, tone wobbling, and suddenly he's very aware just how sensitive Maka's chest is. It's tender flesh and pebbled nipples jostling and jiggling faintly against the undulation of his hard on, and it's probably the filthiest thing he's ever done to his meister.

" _Soul_ –"

" _So_ good," he promises, voice low and jaw loose. He hisses and breathes loudly. It's suffocating to him, but it draws out the color in Maka's face and she blushes further. It spreads well onto her chest, porcelain skin hueing into warm shades of thrill and he wants to lick it, trace the gradient of milk-white to rose pink.

Her face is stained pink as well, a haunting meshing of her pride and her own glory. Her hair is knotted atop her head, bun bobbing and tendrils of faint, ashy blonde fanning loosely over her pinkening ears. He's grunting and groaning and his voice has become nothing more than a raspy whine for her and her eyes light up with recognition finally, finally – and when he comes all over her collarbones and leaks into the pit of her throat where her skin is thinnest, she smiles with a lusty sort of pride and licks her lips.

His shoulders heave and he struggles to catch his break. He's hunched over her, one hand clasped onto her shoulder and the other mashed onto the area beside her face, fingers clasping around her pillowcase.

Her fingers smear the stickiness along the curve of her throat and he can't stop staring. He grasps blindly for the tissues that he keeps on his bedside table until he realizes that they're in her room, and then he stares at her uselessly, guilty and sated.

He hears her legs shift against the pink comforter and then a puff of her breath.

He can practically smell her own excitement. The heat and wetness between her legs is a promise, he thinks – one for her but also for him, and he cleans her clavicle dutifully and presses a slight, apologetic kiss to her right breast before shuffling his way down and suckling at the sensitive flesh that glows with delicious need.

He thinks he'd like to repay her.

And also reassure her that she's great the way she is, all slim waists and small breasts and soft thighs that he considers home.


End file.
